Or perhaps it’s because she’s now Davenport Estate’s largest investor.
The door to the parlor opens, and the estate’s steward, Mrs. Morrison, announces my royal guest. I rise from my seat on the divan—the same one Torben used as a bed when we first arrived at the boarded-up manor, only refurbished—and brace myself. My magic tickles the edge of my awareness, but I breathe it away.
“Her Majesty, Queen Tris,” Mrs. Morrison says, dipping into a curtsy as my stepmother enters the parlor. The queen looks as elegant as always, the pink blossoms that comprise her hair in full bloom. I dip into a curtsy and am about to rise when Mrs. Morrison speaks again. “And Her Highness, Princess Maisie of the Sea Court.”
I nearly fall out of my elegant pose as a fae female enters behind the queen. She looks to be my age, but her pointed ears tell me she’s full fae, so she could be ancient for all I know. Regardless, the casual way she carries herself paired with the loose silk trousers and unbuttoned vest she wears immediately sets me at ease.
Tris approaches me and plants a kiss on my cheek, one more practiced than affectionate, but it’s a gesture I appreciate, even as it makes me seize up a little. “Hello, Astrid. I hope you don’t mind that I brought a guest.”
Princess Maisie comes to greet me next, but instead of saying any normal sort of greeting, she stares down at my chest and blurts out, “Oooh are those silvaran oyster pearls?”
It takes me a moment to realize what she’s talking about. I glance down at my dress, a confection of silky-smooth gold chiffon and ivory lace, and notice the buttons running from the plunging neckline to my midsection. I hadn’t noticed before, but they are in fact pearls.
“Um…yes?” I say, my answer pitched more like a question. I honestly don’t know whether they’re silvaran oyster pearls, for I’m more interested in the tactile experience of my attire than any shiny decorations they possess. Although, I am starting to appreciate fashion—a new experience for me. Before I learned to control my magic, I always wore what was either most comfortable or most readily at my disposal. Now that I know people can see what I truly look like—not to mention having a stepmother who insists on sending famous dressmakers to outfit me when she’s feeling generous—I’ve begun to take pride in my appearance. Even better is the fact that I’ve discovered some of the most delectably comfortable fabrics I never knew existed before now.
I smooth my hands over my silky skirt, letting the softness of the chiffon calm my nerves.
Maisie releases a longing sigh, her eyes still locked on my chest. “What I wouldn’t give to pluck one of those buttons off your dress and pocket it. I miss having someone to chide me over such instincts and tell me not to steal things.”
I slide my gaze to my stepmother and give her a questioning look.
“That’s why we’re here,” Tris says. “Maisie’s father, King Ronan, is a dear friend of mine, and when he mentioned his daughter was wanting a pet, I knew exactly where to take her.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Maisie meets my eyes for the first time, and her grin widens.
I’m not entirely sure what a pet has to do with Maisie wishing she had someone to tell her not to steal things, but at least I understand the nature of her visit. I return her grin.
“My husband and I—” Maisie cuts off with a snort of laughter. “That’s so strange that I get to call him that now.” She extends her hand and wiggles her fingers, drawing attention to the pink pearl and diamonds gracing a rose gold band. “We got married by a unicorn at a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel last week.”
“Congratulations,” I say. Though I must admit, her demeanor, while charming, has me a little flustered. I’m still not used to how open some people are. Or how random. I frown as I try to piece together what she’s saying. “So…you decided to celebrate by getting a pet?”
“Yes, and I hear you’re something of a matchmaker.”
A sense of calm confidence settles over me, mingling with the budding excitement that always grows when I’m presented with a new client. “That I am.”
* * *
I leadTris and Maisie from the parlor and into the foyer. Maids and butlers bustle by, pausing to curtsy before scurrying off to fulfill the manor’s many duties.
“Davenport Manor is nearly indistinguishable from the condition it was in a year ago,” Tris says to Maisie, a note of smug pride in her voice. “My stepdaughter has worked tirelessly to make good on the investments I’ve put into the place. However,” she turns her gaze to me, “I had thought you and Torben would be living here yourselves when I made those investments.”
I suppress an internal groan. We’ve had this conversation a thousand times. “Yes, but turning the manor into a bed and breakfast makes your investment multiply. Income from our guests helps keep the manor running, and serving breakfast highlighting products from Davenport Berries supports the farms. Besides, Torben and I don’t need all this space to ourselves.”
“If you say so,” Tris says, tone curt.
We approach the end of the foyer where it opens up to what is now a lobby. A wide mahogany desk rests at the base of the two staircases. I smile at the little troll working the desk. He beams before bowing for my two guests. Not for me, though. I don’t allow such genuflecting from the manor’s staff. Here I don’t have to be a princess.
I turn toward the eastern wing, the only part of the manor that hasn’t been requisitioned for the bed and breakfast. As we approach our destination, I know it’s time to do what I do best.
Focusing on pleasant feelings—love, comfort, safety—I summon my magic and look over at Princess Maisie. “What kind of pet are you looking for?”
She meets my eyes, and an impression forms. I see loyalty in her eyes, emotional resilience in the set of her shoulders, humor at the corners of her lips. “Something I can carry,” she says. “I’d like it to have a certain heft, if that makes sense. And I want it to enjoy a good snuggle.”
“Do you have a preference of what type of animal?” I ask, shifting my magic yet again. This time I allow my emotions to dip. Not too far, for I’ve practiced enough to spark a change of impression with only a subtle alteration of mood.
She taps a finger to her chin, and I see a stubborn quality in the set of her jaw, a hint of resentment clouding her chest, and envy. A lot of envy. That must have to do with her mention of stealing things. Whatever the case, nothing that I see makes her a bad person. Only a real one. Like all of us.
“Maybe a dog?” she says. “Or a turtle.”
